


Trope Meme: Crossdressing, Frank/Gerard

by mistresscurvy



Series: Trope Meme [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy/pseuds/mistresscurvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sorry," Gerard says automatically. Under normal circumstances he would defend himself, retort that the whole point of Frank showing him where the hidden key is kept was to remove the necessity of knocking. But these aren't normal circumstances.</p><p>These are Frank-in-a-dress circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trope Meme: Crossdressing, Frank/Gerard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ciel_vert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciel_vert/gifts).



Mrs. Iero's car isn't in the driveway, so Gerard doesn't bother ringing the bell.

He grabs the spare key from its hiding place near the back door and enters the house through the kitchen, his hand clutching his loot.

It's ridiculous how winded he gets just from charging up the stairs, but he doesn't care about that right now. He's gotta share this.

Gerard hurries down the hall to Frank's room, the door just ajar. He pushes it open fast and almost breaks his neck stumbling on the stuff strewn all over the floor, but he manages to avoid faceplanting. "Frank, I fucking found it, it is finally time for an Evil Dead marathon--"

He cuts himself off when his brain finally processes what he's seeing.

"Don't you know how to knock, asshole?" Frank snaps.

"Sorry," Gerard says automatically. Under normal circumstances he would defend himself, retort that the whole point of Frank showing him where the hidden key is kept was to remove the necessity of knocking. But these aren't normal circumstances.

These are Frank-in-a-dress circumstances.

Or maybe not a dress, exactly. The material's too flimsy for that, the silky fabric skimming over his limbs, barely concealing his body under it. The edge of the skirt just hits at Frank's knees, the pale pink color contrasting with his hairy legs. Gerard's gaze travels upwards, over Frank's little belly pudge that almost gives him the hint of curves, the illusion of hips. The delicate straps rest lightly on his shoulders, somehow both emphasizing his masculinity and making it easy to focus on the line of his neck, the gentle slope of the fabric over his chest.

The slip--that's what it is, holy fuck, Frank is wearing a slip--has a lace edge around the top, dipping down in a V. A few stray chest hairs peek out over the top.

Gerard's eyes finally land on Frank's face again. Or really on his lips, which are rosy and slick with gloss, the perfect bow of his mouth twisted by Frank's frown.

His cheeks are pink too, but Gerard's pretty sure that's not because of too much blush. "What the fuck are you staring at," Frank says finally, the angry set of his mouth undercut by the terror Gerard can hear in his voice, the tension in the hand clutching an eye pencil.

Swallowing hard, Gerard takes a step forward. He keeps his eyes on Frank's, his left one inexpertly lined in black, his right bare. "Let me help?"

"What do you know about it?" Frank retorts, but he doesn't move away.

"Went to school as a girl, remember?" Gerard says, reaching out carefully to tug the pencil loose from Frank's hand. "You think I didn't practice that shit at home first? Besides," he continues, flipping his hair back pretentiously. "I am an _artist._ Of course I can do this."

The comment works; Frank snorts out a laugh, his entire body relaxing for the first time since Gerard barged in and interrupted something private.

Gerard takes a chance and gently pushes Frank back against the wall before smiling again. "So let an expert help you out, okay? Stay still and close your eyes."

Frank doesn't do it immediately, staring up at Gerard for a moment longer before closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall.

"Okay," Gerard breathes, flicking his wrist out to release the tension and lightly bracing his left hand on the side of Frank's face. "Upper lid first." He uses his thumb to pull the eyelid taut, resting his right hand against his cheek before applying the liner.

The pencil glides over his lid easily. It's a good quality brand, not crumbly or dry, smooth as silk on his skin. Gerard wonders if he nicked it from his mother or from the CVS down the block. It speaks of planning, though, of a desire that's been simmering for a long time, waiting for the right moment. 

Gerard finishes the right eye and then looks back over at the left. He shifts and presses his hands against the left side of Frank's face, careful to not brush against his lips and ruin the carefully-applied gloss. Gerard gives Frank a moment to anticipate it before he starts evening out the work Frank has already done, smoothing the line and adding a tiny upward stroke at the outside of his eye.

Letting a breath out, Gerard lifts his hands away. "Okay," he says, his voice low. "Open your eyes and look up." 

Frank does it, making eye contact with Gerard for a moment before staring up at the ceiling. Gerard steps even closer, leaning in as he rests his hand against Frank's cheek. 

The traffic from the street is loud, but Gerard barely hears it, his attention entirely on Frank, on lining the lower rim of his eyes perfectly, on getting it just right. There's a stillness to the moment, Gerard falling into the same trance he always does when he creates, his focus complete. His concentration is intensified by the fact that he's creating with Frank, though. It's like they're the only two people in the world, the drag of the pencil against his face the only thing worth his notice. 

The black is stark against Frank's face, almost too harsh compared to the softness of the slip and his pink lips. But when Gerard finally murmurs, "Done," and takes a step away, he can't stop staring at Frank's face, or at his tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth. Frank blinks a few times and then stares at Gerard. The picture is complete.

"Thanks," Frank says softly, his gaze intent on Gerard's face. Gerard swallows hard, not wanting to speak or move away or do anything that might break this moment. Before he can make up his mind what to do, Frank takes a step forward, close enough so that Gerard's hand brushes against the soft fabric of his slip. 

Any self-control Gerard still possesses evaporates in that moment as he leans forward and kisses Frank, the lip gloss tacky against his mouth. He can't care about that though, can't care about anything other than holding Frank close, one hand at the small of his back and the other hand in his hair. He has no idea how he got here, or when his plans for the afternoon shifted from a horror marathon to making out with Frank in a slip. But he can't stop, and from the way Frank is pressing up against him neither can he. 

He kisses the lip gloss off Frank's mouth, the artificially sweet flavor fading away until he can only taste Frank underneath it. He pushes forward until Frank is up against the wall again, his hands holding Gerard's face steady as he kisses him back. They fall into this as easily as everything else, as if it's no different than just shooting the shit or listening to music. And maybe it's not, at least for them.

Gerard finally pulls back for a moment, panting for breath. There was a question he was going to ask, something he wanted to say, but his mind goes blank when he looks at Frank, how wrecked he is, lip gloss smeared all over his mouth, one strap of the slip down his arm.

His dick, hard and obvious through the thin fabric of the slip. 

Gerard is moving before he can even think, hand reaching out to cup Frank's hard-on, feeling it jump against his palm. Frank chokes out, "Oh god," and pulls Gerard back in for another kiss, his tongue dirty and searching in Gerard's mouth. Gerard moves with him, letting go of Frank's cock just long enough to get his hand up under the slip.

He moans into Frank's mouth when his hand closes around Frank's bare cock, the silky material of the slip moving against his arm as he jerks Frank off. Gerard barely has enough room to get a good rhythm going; he should move away a little, give himself some space, but he can't stop himself from pressing up against Frank's leg, rubbing his dick against Frank's body. 

Frank bites down hard on Gerard's lower lip a second before he trembles and comes all over Gerard's hand, his hips stuttering forward. Gerard drops his head down onto Frank's shoulder and moves with him as he shudders through it. He gives Frank a moment before he gets his jeans undone and his briefs down, wrapping his hand around his dick. He's so fucking close already; he pants against Frank's skin and thrusts into his own fist, Frank's hands tight in his hair. 

After a half a dozen strokes he lets out a muffled shout into Frank's neck and comes, feeling it pulse through his entire body. He slumps against Frank and the wall, coming down slowly. 

When he finally pulls away again, he smiles hesitantly at Frank, a little shy. He lifts his clean hand and brushes over Frank's lower lip with his index finger. "Sorry for messing up your makeup." Gerard looks down, his eyes widening. "And your slip," he adds, staring at the come stain.

Frank snorts. "You can buy me a new one," he says, leaning in to kiss Gerard. He breaks away, shifting over to whisper in Gerard's ear, "And maybe you can do my makeup again?"

Gerard nods and holds him tight.


End file.
